


Shadows

by QueenKLee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All Is Not As It Seems, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Graphic Injury, Hunter Apprentice, In the Neighborhood of S07-S08, No Slash, Original Character as Narrator, There's cussing, Told thru dialogue, Wendigo, Winchesters take in an orphan, canon adjacent, typical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenKLee/pseuds/QueenKLee
Summary: Dean and Sam take in a teenage apprentice hunter. Stuff happens.
Kudos: 3





	1. The Orphan

**Author's Note:**

> The Winchester Brothers have helped me stay sane (mostly) during the monstrous year that 2020 has become. This is the first time I've written for these characters and I know their following is legion and loyal. Although my writing on this story is pretty far along, I'm only posting the first two chapters to see if "Shadows" finds a receptive audience in the vast catalog of SPN fanfiction. If you find it worth your time, and want to read more, please let me know. We'll see how it goes!

Chapter One  – The Orphan

Orphaned by a Rawhead, I was a junior hunter, hungry for vengeance and willing to fight for a place at the sides of Dean and Sam Winchester. Or at the very least, in their legendary shadows.

After a grueling six-month search of the Northwest’s rural byways, I had trailed and found the infamous brothers engaged in an all-out, balls-to-the-wall fight that erupted in a seedy bar in Lander, Wyoming. As it turned out, the cranky locals represented a nasty nest of vampires that had us outnumbered 15-3. Pulling my short-blade machete, I jumped into the fray, quickly taking the head of a petite blonde with an impressive array of newly-cut fangs.

Even in the middle of a brawling bloodfest, Dean noticed my participation, whipping his face to mine in confused curiosity. I tossed him a jaunty thumbs up before a vamp nearly took me down as a quick lunch. My height, or lack thereof, provided me the chance to duck and roll to a safer vantage point. But, even with my surprise volunteer backing, Sam and Dean did the math and realized we were about to be overrun.

The snarling horde of vamps were on our heels as we reached the dusty parking lot where Dean literally grabbed me by the waist of my jeans and threw me—yeah, he freaking _threw me_ _—_ into an Impala's enormous backseat before flooring the gas pedal and fishtailing onto asphalt. The tires caught, laying distinctive, black tread in our wake.

"Vamps, Sam?" Dean roared. "We can't even stop for _cerveza_ without being blindsided by a nest of vampires? "

"What can I say, Dean? " Sam patiently replied, without actually replying.

"And what about the little dude in our backseat?" Dean demanded, quirking an eyebrow in my direction.

"How should I know?" Sam asked. "You're the one who tossed him back there."

"Well, we couldn't just leave him in that dive, like a chicken nugget at a picnic,” Dean ranted. “Besides, he was kind of holding his own."

"Yeah, that was weird, " Sam wondered, his forehead crinkling as he glanced at me over his shoulder.

Working to keep the squeak out of my voice, I declared, "Still here, guys. I'm a hunter too. Just like you Winchesters."

Dean's eyes flashed to mine in his rearview mirror. He pinned me with a glare that could melt rocks. I shrunk even smaller on the enormous bench seat.

"What did you say? " he yelled at me before turning to interrogate his brother, "What the hell, Sam. Has Baby gotta bumper sticker I don't know about? 'Hunters on board'?"

Nonplussed, Sam calmly replied, "Not that I know of, Dean. Why don't you ask him how he knows us?" Sam gestured toward me with a tilt of his cleft chin.

I was trapped by the withering glower in the front mirror. Dean sighed heavily as if I was the proverbial last straw for a guy who was just jonesing for a cold brewsky and got served a glass of warm piss.

"So, spill it, Bieber," Dean demanded. "I want all the W's. Who are you? Where'd you come from? And how'd you know about us? "

"That's an H, " Sam helpfully added with an innocent smile.

Dean's exasperation bounced from me back to his grinning brother, growling, "Shut it."

Then his gruff heat was back on me, the lonely little target at his six. "I'm waitin' for answers, Kid. Don't make me stop this car."

Sam chuckled, saying, "You sound just like—"

"Don't," Dean warned, distracted by his brother's byplay.

Sam tossed me a wink, confirming I was not as outstripped as I had thought. I'd made a friend and he was the biggest guy in the car.

But it apparently wasn't enough because Dean impulsively pulled off the highway and let the big-ass Chevy roll to a stop. Uh-oh.

For a six-foot guy, Dean moved with scary alacrity, vaulting out of the front and suddenly joining me on the bench seat which grew a lot more confining with his impressive shoulders curving above mine, a large hand planted on either side of me. He poked me, hard, in the upper arm, but I was determined not to react. Although, _ouch_.

"Talk. Now." He offered me a smile that belied the danger simmering in his eyes.

Sam completely twisted in the front seat to keep tabs on the grilling that was underway. "Easy, Dean," he murmured. "He's just a kid."

Dean rolled his eyes in exaggerated search of patience and slid a few inches out of my personal space before withdrawing a hand. One hand.

"I'm a—," I began, the little words catching in my throat.

"Yah, we got that part," Dean interrupted. "Not buying it, Elmer Fudd. "

"Dean, let him talk." Sam suggested in a voice as serene as his brother's was confrontational.

Viewing that moment as the best and only opening I was going to get with the legendary brothers, I fortified myself with a deep breath before speaking. I needed all the air I could get.

"They call me Shadow."

"Shadow! What kind of name is that?" Dean blurted.

"My kind, " I answered defiantly, meeting his stubborn stare with one of my own. "A Rawhead killed my parents and two little brothers last year. In New Mexico."

"Where in New Mexico?" Dean demanded tersely.

Wonderful, now I was a contestant in a geography bee.

"Near Cloudcroft. In Lincoln National Forest," I volunteered, lifting an eyebrow, daring him to challenge my story. My sad fucking little story.

The brothers engaged in a conversation without words, sharing knowledge and confirmation with a glance. It pissed me off, their presumption and the way they intuitively shut me away. I got it. They were so closely connected they weren’t even aware of the walls they'd raised between themselves and the rest of the world. It had kept them alive through the lonely years and gnarly battles, but it made me feel so damn judged and abandoned.

Soon enough though, Dean jerked me back to his frowning, prosecutorial presence. "You've fought before. Who trained you?"

"Johnny Campbell," I answer, growing in confidence at the stunned recognition that registered on both their faces. "Yep. Those Campbell's."

"You know we'll check with him, " Dean assured me.

"Better pull out your Ouigi board then 'cause he's kind of dead. Killed six months ago in Battle Creek by a Djinn," I fired back. "But you knew that. Seeing as he fell out of your mom's family tree."

I knew I had struck paydirt with the details.

"How do you know about us?" Sam asked, his interest caught.

"Everybody in the game knows about you guys," I smirked. "You're like the cover boys for Hunters Weekly."

My risky snark drew another pained sigh from Dean who dragged a weary palm over his face. "Just what I need. One more smartass."

And suddenly, he left me alone, retreating to his private refuge at the wheel.

"Next big town, we're leaving your little white hiney at the bus station," Dean announced as he glided the heavy sedan back onto the pavement.

Sam slept all the way to Denver while his older brother sporadically muttered random phrases as if arguing with the fates that had unfairly burdened him with such a troubling inconvenience as me.

"Not running a damn kindergarten here... Can't be over fourteen.... Hasn't even got hair in his pants... All I did was pull off for a beer and we get stuck with Harry fuckin' Potter."

~~¥~~


	2. Babysitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take their secretive Baby Hunter into the field where a vicious Wendigo plays rough.

Chapter 2 - Babysitting

The bus station didn't happen although Dean circled it like a tiger shark while he and Sam debated my existence as if I was the assigned topic at a forensics tournament.

"Look at his baby face, Sam. He's a kid! A freakin' toddler," Dean argued. There was a lot of arm waving from the driver, since he seemed capable of steering the colossal Chevy with sheer mind control.

"And what were we, Dean, when we started?" Sam had countered. "You were shooting a forty-five when you weren't big enough to hold a pistol in one hand. You were hunting before you turned twelve."

"That's different. Dad trained us."

"And we can train this kid. Who else has he got? " Sam asked, laying guilt liberally and well.

Keeping Baby fueled was expensive. To save gas, Dean had finally parked in the empty lot of an abandoned warehouse downtown to continue their argument over my immediate future.

I made a last-ditch plea to join their team, nearly whining, "I'm only asking for the chance to do this. To avenge my family. To be a better hunter. "

"You're no hunter, Kid." Dean shot back.

"I found you."

Sam snorted in repressed laughter.

"What have you got to lose?" I questioned. "If I die, it's no skin off of yours."

"Why, Shad? What brought you to us? " Sam asked, searching my eyes for my answer, for my truth.

To me the reply should have been obvious, but I realized it needed to be said. More Importantly, needed to be heard.

"I thought you understood,” I explained, connecting with sets of eyes. “I wanted to learn from the best."

The long, loaded look Sam gave his brother ensured Dean's surrender. He cranked the engine, shaking his head in defeat, moaning, "This is nuts, even for us."

~~¥~~

We negotiated our agreement, meaning I nodded along while Dean laid down his longwinded set of Winchester laws.

My choice of sleeping arrangements would be bedding down on a hotel cot when available, the floor if necessary or in Baby's backseat, weather permitting. I would get last dibs on the shower and be happy about it. The brothers would keep me fed as long as I carried my own weight.

As a hunter, I was small, unlike the powerful armed brothers who towered over me, enforcing the only name the Winchesters knew for me—Shadow, Shad for short. And syllables were at a premium in a fight with the spawn of evil. Shad, down! Shad, jump! Heads-Up, Shad!

The trait that had kept me alive, until this dark hour, was also my weakness. At 5'3", I was admittedly a wisp, yes, but swift and neatly made. In the field, when facing monsters, the brothers called the shots and I _would_ obey. No _ifs, ands_ or _buts_. And, the first time I screwed up on a hunt and got someone hurt, my ass was bound for the bus. Any bus, going anywhere.

I could live with that. Or die with it, as the case might be. I'd survived a rawhead attack on a remote campsite in the woods. I felt indestructible, meant to live so I could hunt and destroy the evil things that had cast darkness on my world.

~~¥~~

The wendigo's grimy claws slashed through my upper chest, the stench of rotting flesh crawling down my throat to compete with the red-hot pain wanting to take my breath. I had stepped too close to the monster and that momentary mistake might have made me too stupid to live.

My survival in this grisly instant depended on muscle memory and the months of training I'd had with the Winchesters. Dean's vital instructions echoed in my head.

"You're little and fast. That's your advantage. Slip from its range before it can strike."

Well, it was too late for that bit. My only hope at this ugly point was to escape without incurring further damage. I couldn't feint back far enough to retreat from the wendigo's reach so I gripped my silver stake, thrusting it upwards into its chest before dropping to roll, praying I'd gained the needed space to run. The stinking beast thrashed and growled behind me but I didn't dare look back. If it was on top of me, I really didn't want to know.

"Shad, drop!"

In mid-stride, I flung myself onto the unforgiving stone floor of the cave, instinctively drawing my arms up to cover the back of my head as if that would somehow protect me from being devoured.

My heightened senses registered the movement of air above me as Sam's spinning silver axe flashed overhead to solidly slam into the meaty heart of the wendigo. The beast fell heavily onto the backs of my outstretched legs, pinning me with its disgusting mass.

Steel-toed boots appeared in my line of vision as Sam and Dean stooped to shove the dead brute's body off of me.

"Hey, Kid, you okay?" Dean asks, peering at me in the cave 's dim light.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks," I muffled, pulling myself upright now that I'd been freed. In truth, I was numb and moving as if time has slowed way down. The adrenaline rush was dwindling and I was terrified of blacking out in front of my mentors.

"You sure you're not hurt?" Sam pressed as I yanked my jacket tight around me. He steadied my arm while I stiffly gained my footing.

"Just need some air,” I admitted, ducking my head. “That thing stinks."

“Sam!” Dean called from deeper in the cave. “Need a hand here if you’re done serving Lorna Doones?”

I didn't remember hiking back to Baby while the boys dismembered the monster. Or crawling onto the bench seat and pulling the worn blanket over my wounded chest.

When my partners returned, inky darkness cloaked the forest. I was rudely awakened and blinded by the Chevy's courtesy lights when her doors opened with their signature metal squawk. Then, the awful smell of gore and dead animal assaulted me. l gagged, tugging the blanket over my face to escape the overpowering stench.

"Keep it together, princess," Dean chided me. "Monster corpses ain't a bowl of potpourri."

l tossed him a solid, one-fingered salute and he laughed, gunning the Impala's thrumming engine.

Aside from the near-death encounters, the absolute worst part of hunting was the obscene assortment of nasty smells. Decaying bodies. Burning flesh. Blackening pools of blood. Rotting flesh. Demon sweat. It was all freaking terrible.

The guys stopped at state park restrooms to shower and change into fresh clothes before re-entering civilization. Huddled in the back of the car, my chest throbbed from the wendigo's clawing. The waistband of my jeans was cold and wet with blood still seeped onto my abdomen. Terrified that I had broken Dean's law against getting someone hurt, my mind had raced ahead. _How could I possibly keep them from knowing I messed up? If they found out, I was sure I_ _’d bought my one-way ticket into foster care._

Like the Winchesters, I dressed in layers, which was the only way I managed to camouflage my sorry state until I could deal with the situation. I had my own personal first aid kit squirrelled in my duffle bag so it was just a matter of making it into the bathroom before my behavior or appearance raised their suspicions.

To air out Baby, we drove for over an hour with the windows down before finding a hunting lodge that rented single cabins. Because it was off-season, we lucked out, snagging an affordable unit that had two bedrooms with an aging hide-a-bed sofa for me.

Relief washed over me as I sank to the floor against the closed bathroom door. We had hunted hard for the past 36 hours, so Sam and Dean had immediately crashed while I slipped under their radar, murmuring something about needing a quick shower.

Easing out of my jacket, it was painfully apparent that my blood-crusted shirt wasn't coming off easily, bonded as it was to my oozing, shredded skin. The thought of ripping it loose made the meager contents of my stomach creep up my throat. Not wanting to move, I toed off my boots and socks without rising.

Screw up my courage, I sat on the old linoleum floor until the first chill crawled up my arms. The possible comfort of steaming hot water was the only motivation that raised me out of my wretched stupor. I gingerly reached for the shower faucet, praying that the little water heater in the corner could fulfill its one job.

Unfastening my jeans, I let gravity drag the heavy denim down my calves. I leaned into the tiled wall, to cautiously step out of them. They're hopelessly stained with blood, a fact that grieves me because I've only got the one extra pair. Left in my shirt and underwear, I ungracefully cowered in the shower, angling my upper body so that my shoulders took the force of the spray, allowing the rivulets of hot water to wash down my bloody shirt front. Puddles of scarlet and rust pooled around me.

Please, I begged an unseen God, let the sound of water rushing through old pipes cover the sound of my whimpers as I peeled the ruined Henley from my suffering flesh.

Exhaustion had set in once I was clean and dry. After slathering my wounds with antibiotic salve, I'd bandaged the cuts as well as I could, thinking that Sam would have laughed, or been infuriated, by my sloppy first aid attempts. After tiredly pulling on fresh underwear and sweats, I was utterly shot. But there, in the damp shower floor, remained the condemning evidence—my wet bloody clothes.

I wrung the water out of my cotton shirt, as much as my pulsing wounds would allow, before rolling it with my jeans in a towel, then stuffing the bundle into my bag. I would bury the stained clothing when I could, when I wouldn't be seen, when I felt human again.

After a last check of the bathroom, I gathered my things and sneaked into the little den, burrowing into my sleeping bag on the sofa. I hadn't the energy or courage to fold out its mattress before collapsing unto a merciful sleep.

~~¥~~


	3. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things can only be hidden for so long.

Chapter 3 - Secrets

Hunters regularly burned beyond their physical limits until bringing down their prey. But once the monsters lay slain, their killers surrendered to the natural human craving for rest, food and sex. Hunters lived hard. Fought hard. Played hard. Loved hard. Slept hard. Died hard. When the choice was theirs, the first priority was generally sleep.

No one stirred in the remote cabin until late afternoon the next day. When they finally awoke, Sam and Dean thought nothing of my continued occupancy of the rumpled bedroll. After all, teenage boys were known to hibernate like grumpy little winter bears. In truth, I pretended to snooze because I felt like hammered crap. My chest was on fire and fever scorched my throat with every inhale. I promised myself that rest would cure me, that my youth and resiliency would boost my swift recovery with no Winchester being the wiser.

The brothers came and went while I malingered in my private cocoon. Dean fetched groceries from a nearby village. Sam explored the mountain trails and river backing the cabin. They both buried their attentions in books borrowed from the lodge 's free library.

They made attempts to rouse me, inviting me to the rustic table with the smells of fried eggs and bacon, usually a favorite meal that only made me so queasy I wanted to hurl. Instead, I begged off from my nest with claims of a headache. Asleep, awake and somewhere between, I overheard bits of the brothers’ speculation. _Maybe Shad was coming down with something? Best to let him rest tonight. Find a clinic tomorrow?_

Deep in the night, I was nagged awake by worries that the damp bundle in my duffle was probably sprouting mushrooms. The cabin was dark as only an isolated mountain dwelling can be. The stereo snores of sleeping Winchesters confirmed that the time for my clandestine mission had come, now or never.

When I raised upright, the walls whirled and I struggled to extricate my arms from the bedding so I could slap a hand on either side of my legs to keep from falling over. A slight groan of distress escaped me and I scolded my weakling self.

_What kind of sorry excuse for a hunter was I anyway?_

Slowly unwinding from the tangled blankets, I staggered to the bathroom to pee and throw cold mountain water on my burning face and neck. I could do this. I was tough enough to finish this job.

The thing about my nickname, Shadow, was that I could, thankfully, move like one. After retrieving my jacket and the bundle from my bag, I slipped silently out of the cabin.

The chilly night air slapped me alert and granted me the tiny burst of energy necessary to locate our shovel and start digging. It certainly wasn't fun, but I'd had lots of spade practice at cemeteries in recent months. I was just about done tamping the disturbed, moist earth back into place when a beam of light split the darkness.

"Whatcha doing there, kiddo?"

I was caught in the tight circle of Dean's flashlight as I stepped forward onto the slight mound of leaves and dirt hiding my Levi's messy grave.

"Ummm, burying a mouse," I lied, rather pleased with this impromptu, yet desperate, story.

"A mouse," he repeated.

"Um yeah, it ran out from behind the stove and I killed it. So, I'm burying it. The mouse."

Dean prodded an exposed corner of denim with the toe of his moccasin, inquiring with a tilt of his head, "This mouse of yours, was he wearing pants?"

Now most reasonable sorts would have thrown up their hands—or just plain thrown up—in surrender at this juncture, but not this kid, not fever-crazed me.

"Oh. I wrapped it in my jeans. So I could bury the mouse."

At this point, Dean 's expression is a strange mix of disbelief and admiration for my surplus of brass.

"You made a shroud. Out of your pants. For a dead mouse, " he deadpanned.

I grinned sheepishly, stupidly hoping that Dean would overlook this incident and store it away in the “Idjit Kid" file he kept on me.

"Well, I gotta see that for myself," Dean helpfully announced, gesturing for me to pass the shovel his way. "May I?"

Numbly offering the trowel, I watched him excavate the soaking, blood-stained remains of my dignity, as I prepared for the burst of unbridled Winchester fury.

~~¥~~

"Strip."

"No, you sick perv. Get away from me."

By now, we were back in the cabin and a wild-haired Sam had been dragged into our sordid little melodrama by our mutual yelling.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam asked, half asleep on his feet as he looked bleary-eyed between his lunatic partners for answers.

"Clothes off. Now! " Dean ordered.

What happened next shocked all of us, especially me. A single, fat teardrop crested and spilled down my cheek. I promptly swiped it away in shame, but the damage had been done.

I was in pitiful trouble by this time and couldn't think my way out of it. Orphaned for three years, I'd survived by my wits, but now I was too sick, in too much pain, to deal with the hand I'd been dealt.

From behind, Sam's hands came around his brother's shoulders, pulling him away from me.

"Ease up, Dean, " Sam murmured as he filled Dean's place to kneel in front of me.

"What's going on, Shad?" Sam asked, the concern in his quiet voice piercing me in places I had long hidden.

"His clothes from today," Dean interrupted, although calmer than before. "They're covered in blood."

"Narc!" I hissed, instantly regretting my venom. After being outside, it was really hot standing in the stuffy cabin with the potbelly stove at my back. "I'm sorry," I whispered as another damned tear betrayed me.

Dean lowered his glance and I didn't know if it was because he was troubled by my meanness or simply embarrassed for me.

"Shad, you're hurt?" Sam pressed, no longer a sleepyhead, but suddenly the fully-alert and vigilant hunter. His complete attention was laser-focused on me now, inspecting closely for signs of injury. I genuinely wanted to die, anticipating the terrible moment when his eyes recognized what they had failed to see in me so many times before.

The realization of who I was, what I was, rocked Sam. Dropping back on his heels, he exhaled a small, "Oh," before I lost my fight against the black dots, sliding boneless to the floor.

~~¥~~


	4. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam make scars on their junior hunter, who leaves a few of her own.

Chapter 4 - Scars

Sam carried me to his room while Dean cleared the bed for my unceremonious arrival.

Dean automatically placed the scissors in his brother's raised palm. Sitting on the mattress edge, Sam turned his shaggy head, contemplating how he should divulge the secret he had just figured out. Knowing Dean as he does, there would simply be no easy way for this to go down.

So Sam decided, for better or worse, to go for a visual illustration and used the sharp shears to slit the front of my sweatshirt, from waist hem to neckline. The soft cotton panels fell away, revealing the truth I had obsessively withheld from the beginning.

"What the hell... Sam! What is that?" Dean blustered, his eyes wide with shock.

"If memory serves, Dean, it's a bra."

Dean paled as his brain clicked the complete picture into place.

"I need a minute," Dean gulped, his Adam's apple jerking hard in his throat. He stalked from the bedroom, leaving Sam alone with a wounded, unconscious _girl_ sprawled in his sheets.

Sam struggled with the mental triage of the situation. He was as stunned by my successful subterfuge as his older brother, but the now-exposed bloody bandages screamed for first priority. 

"Oh, no... You stupid kid," Sam whispered, his sighs falling on my deaf ears. He reached a large hand to my forehead, covering half my face. "Burning up, too. Of course..."

Sam gently lifted the bandage edge, seeing what he feared, what he knew, lay beneath. Deeply-clawed and infected, my flesh was painfully etched by the wendigo's wrath.

Consumed with frustration and dread, Sam swept his hair straight back with both hands. When he looked up, Dean had rematerialized like a specter, a haunted witness.

His deep voice echoed against the primitive walls, asking only, "What does she need?"

~~¥~~

"We have to get more light," Sam said, solemnly adding, "It's bad, Dean."

Dean stepped around the tight space, removing lampshades to illuminate the room's dark shadows. They had sorted first aid supplies and thoroughly scrubbed their hands, delaying the misery they were about to inflict.

The brothers worked methodically and quietly as a team. They'd been here too many times, coping with the aftermath of medical trauma, absorbing the illusion of strong hunters left broken and bleeding by their lethal prey.

Finally, Sam raised his eyes to meet his brother's. "You should be the one to do this. Your stitches are neater than mine."

"Yeah. They are. But I'm not used to suturing around.... Around—," Dean flailed for the right phrasing.

"Cleavage?" Sam suggested.

"Yes, exactly! Cleavage!"

"Look, I know, it's awkward, " Sam admitted, chewing his lower lip.

"It's not just that, Sam!" Dean vowed hotly. "We're going to scar her, probably for life. It's different for guys. You can call me sexist, but it's _unforgivable_ to do that to a girl."

"It's not our fault she got hurt. The wendigo did that to her. She's a hunter, Dean," Sam sighed. "She's chosen The Life. And scars are a part of it, regardless of whether that scares us, or marks Shad for life. But we have to deal in the here and now. And right now, she needs us."

Clenching his jaw, Dean accepted the needle. "Yeah, alright. Let's do what we gotta."

~~¥~~

I returned to the land of the living with a jolt of pain flaring across my torn chest.

Despite the racket I was making, Sam's gentle voice reached for and caught me.

"Easy, Shad. Hang on to me. I know it hurts. It will be over soon. Hey, look at me. We'll get you through this."

It was Sam's solace and prayer, repeated for me again and again, that pulled me through that harrowing hour. I clung to his presence, my only hope of enduring this nightmare.

I had watched both brothers grit their way through wound care and I would have loved to be made of such resolute toughness. But I clearly was not, as I cried and screamed and fought against the relentless sharp instruments piercing my skin.

Dean was forced to debride, or cut away, the infection along with the dying edges of the wendigo wound before sewing them back together. I shamelessly begged him to stop, to leave it alone, to get away from me. I called him every hateful, profane name in my extensive vocabulary.

Throughout the ordeal, Dean held his steely silence, never glancing up from his gruesome task, soldiering through.

I did not see, I did not know that, after he rose from my bedside, he walked into the darkness, his knees hitting the ancient wooden porch, lowering his exhausted shoulders. And sobbed beneath a cold field of uncaring stars.

~~¥~~


	5. We Need to Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having kept a wounded girl alive, the brothers expect the truth.

Chapter 5

I was as lost as I'd ever been, unable to break free of my fever prison to regain a foothold in a world that promised any semblance of safety. The wendigo stalked my delirious wandering, its fetid breath disgusting on my clammy skin and the lumber of relentless, heavy steps dragging shivers up my spine.

Time became a murky thing for me and my caretakers. Without the familiar markers of daily life—whatever that meant for hunters—the hours were regimented by sheer doggedness and the impending need to survive until the next crisis. And there were plenty of those confined to the obscure little cabin framed by the Colorado woods.

Dean and Sam took turns caring for me, monitoring my condition and relying on years of field experience to fight infection, dehydration and pain. When not at my side, they worked for the lodge owner in exchange for cabin rent, chopping kindling, stripping beds, scrubbing potties. Such were the glamorous life and times of being a Winchester. In the “family business,” the brothers exercised a lot of four-letter words and w-o-r-k was chief among them.

Whatever it took, they kept each other, and me, alive.

Dean drove all one night to connect midway with Rufus, who answered a desperate need for prescription medicines and equipment. Although it was never clear how the old hunter kept his emergency stockpiles current, it was commonly known throughout the northern region, that he could come through with lifesaving antibiotics, painkillers and bags of saline when needed.

For amateur medics, whose only training came at the elbows of their father and other hunters, the brothers shared uncanny skills in tending the wounded, relying on observation, internet research, steady hands and sheer obstinacy. If I had been fully conscious and not so ill, I probably would have been mortified by the personal details of the vigilance Dean and Sam compassionately gave.

As it was, I was simply and utterly grateful for their careful strength in lifting my tortured body, warm and gentle touches, their stubborn hold that kept me from slipping away, the deep, reassuring voices in my darkness. Later, I could obsess and fret and die a little over the one-sided intimacy of my convalescence.

On the fourth morning, I woke up, having finally escaped the predator of my nightmares and finding refuge in the faithful shadows of the men I could never repay.

~~¥~~

Once it became apparent that I was not immediately destined for a flaming funeral pyre, Dean and Sam moved on to the heated conversations that, from my perspective, were not much of an improvement over incineration. Whilst I was rudely and adamantly consigned to bed rest, the masculine words and thoughts began to fly within my unfortunate earshot.

"So, all these months, we—the Big Bad Winchesters—didn't notice we'd been hunting and living with a girl? " Dean exclaimed in obvious astonishment.

"That seems to be the case, brother, " Sam agreed as he gathered his clothes from the doorknob and crammed them into a canvas laundry bag. "Maybe we saw what we wanted?"

"Oh, stuff it, Sigmund, " Dean retorted, thoroughly exasperated. “I blame the watch.”

Mystified, Sam paused in his laundry gathering to ask, “You blame _what_?”

“The big-ass wristwatch that Shad’s always wearing,” Dean observed. “It was a total guy watch, made her look more like a dude.”

Raising his palms in half-hearted submission, Sam sighed, “Alrighty, Dean. If that helps you sleep at night.”

Dean continued pacing when another awful thought crossed his mind.

"Oh shit, Sam... Did she see me.... Or us... Naked? I mean, we didn't know we were living co-ed, " Dean defensively rambled.

Sam shrugged because he could not specifically recall a time when they might have flashed me. They had. But he wasn't particularly worried or guilt-ridden over it either way. After all, they'd innocently, albeit ignorantly, embraced the mindset of a boys' locker room during recent months. They'd had bigger and scarier things to face, although judging from Dean's present reaction, cohabitation with a female—who hadn't seemed to be one—was indeed an alarming concept.

“I thought you enjoyed spending time in the company of the fairer sex, " Sam commented wryly.

"Damn it, Sam. Don't say sex right now, " Dean frowned. "Crap, does she know I watch porn?"

"Is there _anyone_ who doesn't know that?" Sam laughed. "Dean, Shad was a new hunter we were training. What would we have done differently if we'd known she was a girl?

"For starters, every damned thing." Dean ticks off each contention with his fingers. "One. Not walked around without my freaking pants. Two. Been more... I don't know, _careful_ with her. Three. Not teased him. Her! About having cramps. I think I may have joked she looked puffy once, and offered to get her some Midol," he confessed with a stricken expression.

Even Sam winced at that unfortunate memory.

Dean was a mess, anger spilling over into a mix of shock and embarrassment.

"You know, she lied to us, Sam!" Dean pointed out, feeding more fuel to his fire.

"Well, yes, Shad let us believe she was a guy, " Sam responded as the overly-reasonable one in the conversation. "But Dean, put yourself in her shoes."

"You mean her Mary Janes?" Dean snarked.

"Whatever," Sam moaned with a roll of his eyes. "Think about Shad's choices. Life on the road, especially while hunting? It was probably safer for her to pass as a dude. And maybe she sought us out because she thought we could be trusted."

"But she _didn't_ trust us, " Dean insisted. "Not with the truth."

"I don't think that's something you—or we—should take personally," Sam argued without heat.

"Well, we know now. We were grown men staying in seedy motels with Hannah Montana. She's jailbait, Sam!" Dean reminded his younger brother.

"We're wanted for murder and desecration of corpses, Dean," Sam reminded his older brother. "I think living with a teenage girl is an asterisk on our crime sheet."

Dean huffed, "Strictly speaking for myself, I'd rather be known as a serial killer than a child molester."

~~¥~~

"We need to talk."

It was the segue I had dreaded, but fully expected the Winchester brothers to raise, for more than a week. It was the sign that they believed I was finally out of the woods although we were literally still in the woods.

I'd graduated to the small rocking chair in the cabin’s den corner which shrunk whenever both brothers occupied the common living space. With each passing second, I was feeling increasingly smaller myself.

Of course, I knew, and they knew, I had overheard their "very vocal" reactions to my obscured identity. Worse, I grasped the deep sense of betrayal they – particularly Dean – harbored.

Sam and Dean faced me in identical, wide-stanced postures with crossed arms and matching frowns. My nerves were strung like piano wire between two towering trees. Oh god, this was destined to be fugly. As a preamble to the lecture and verdict, Dean ominously cleared his throat, briefly exchanging a last-minute glance of mutual resolve with his taller brother.

"First—," he began.

"Wait!" I blurted, throwing my hands up defensively as if the Winchesters were coming at me with bared teeth and murderous intentions. I might have been right about that last part.

Both sets of eyes facing me widened slightly at my disruption.

"Before the bellowing begins," I started, causing their eyebrows to dangerously tent. "Not that your bellowing isn't deserved. It's a righteous choice."

I nodded encouragingly at them before continuing, "But, please. Can I say something? First?"

Their over-taxed sighs of surrender are perfectly synchronized, as if they'd practiced at a secret rehearsal.

"And, can you just sit down?" I timidly requested. "You're both really ridiculously high… up there."

Another pair of deep sighs expanded and deflated their chests and, at this rate, I was concerned about the oxygen levels in the room. But they each took a patronized place on opposing ends of the dilapidated sofa before Dean gave a patronizing wave of his hand, like Caesar allowing a final word before execution.

Having been granted the floor, I squirmed under the weight of their full focus. Damn, those guys could be intense. _Could I do this? Say the things they needed to hear and I needed to confess?_

"Okay, here's the thing," I stammered, squeezing my fingers between clenched knees. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry... for a lot of things. For getting hurt. For letting you believe that... all of this," I said, dragging a floppy hand to vaguely indicate my shape, "Was more like all of that," waving wildly then at them.

Sam cracked a small grin, one dimple popping free, earning a sideways scowl from his brother.

"I didn't mean to lie to you," I said, ducking my chin to sort out my jumbled thoughts. "I guess I was afraid you wouldn't train me, or let me hunt with you, if you knew I was a girl."

"You got that right, " Dean snapped.

“That’s sexist,” Sam muttered with a side glance through his floppy bangs.

“Shut up,” Dean summarily told his brother with a brief, sharp look.

I uneasily cleared my throat, again, to resume my confession.

"I put you in a bad situation," I admitted, shame coloring my cheeks. "And that wasn't fair. Once you guys took me in... "

At the reminder of their mistake, Dean rolled his eyes so hard that I wondered if the green parts would be coming back around any time soon.

"Anyway, after that," I soldiered on, " I didn't know how to tell you. And by then, it would have been really... "

"Awkward?!?" Dean forcefully suggested, getting louder with each word he spluttered. "Felonious? Embarrassing? "

"Yeah," I quietly agreed. " All that."

As usual, Sam was first to take pity on any hapless victim of Dean's directness. Which, at the moment, happened to be me.

“Shad, we’re not angry because you got hurt. It happens, to all of us. You’ve seen that. But you messed up when you hid your injuries from us,” Sam explained, with more firmness than usual.

“That kind of mistake nearly got you dead,” Dean added.

“I know,” I acknowledged sadly. “I guess I was afraid.”

“And, that was partly our fault,” Sam admits, giving his brother a pointed glance, before turning his full attention back to me.

"Shad, we need to know, how old _are_ you?" Sam asked in his empathetic, encouraging way. For the thousandth time, I pondered, _How were these two guys related_?

"Eighteen," I confidently declared. Perhaps too confidently.

"Bullshit," Dean called my bluff, challenging me with a cool stare.

"Seventeen," I countered.

"Sweetheart, this ain't an auction, " Dean added, leaning slightly closer, his eyes narrowing. "On your last birthday, how many candles?"

"Fifteen," I confessed meekly.

I imagined the nearby woodland creatures bolting into the forest, startled by the undammed stream of cuss words that blasted and blistered our cabin walls.

Then it got quiet. Scary quiet, as the dust settled, trembling spiders returned to their webs, Winchesters cooled their jets and my ears eventually stopped ringing.

"Okay," Sam the Peacemaker exhaled, reopening negotiations. "Now that we have a better understanding of the situation..."

"Wait!" I pleaded.

Dean groaned, fell back and buried his chagrined face in both palms.

I cringed, but pushed forward because this time I was certain of the words I needed and wanted to say.

"Beyond my sincere apology," I began, "And I know I've been a royal pain in your ass since Day One."

Dean snorted in robust agreement.

"But if you hear nothing else I've ever said, please, please know how grateful I am for what you've taught me, for taking me in and saving my life in more ways and times than I can count. I will never forget how good you have been to me. Regardless of what you decide, I promise to take it _like_ _a girl_."

~~¥~~


End file.
